Thursday, July 31, 2008

New York State of Mind

Landed safely in New York, and so far it is everything I thought it would be. Looks a bit different from the Vegas version, ay?

Suffice it to say I'm safe, sound, and working on next steps which might keep me a bit preoccupied for a while; so apologies in advance for what might seem like a colossal lack of updating. If that bothers you, try subscribing to the RSS feed (okay Atom feed) below to be notified of updates. Don't forget, if you want to stay in touch, you can always send a email or ring me.

Peace, love, and music, baby!

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

First Night In New York...

I wanted to come to New York and gain some experience with playwrighting. Little did I know that on my first night here, I'd be on stage, in a re-enactment of the scene from Friends where Chandler gets locked in a vestibule with Victoria's Secret model Jill Goodacre. Of course, I'm playing the role of Jill, but in an ironic and daring twist of street theatre, I'm also playing the part of Chandler!

Going on 8 hours of sleep in 72 hours, I minimally unpacked and after a wonderful lunch/orientation with Miss Winn, at 1pm, was about to take a nap when the doorbell rang. Oooh! Visitors!

I head down the stairs, into the vestibule and see a FedEx sticker attached to the front door window. Oooh! Visitors with gifts!

I open the door, try to catch Mr/Miss FedEx, but they drive away. Oh well. Can't Winn them all. As I grab the sticker there's an audible 'click'. My stomach sinks. The door knob does not turn!

I'm locked inside the vestibule- a 3x3 tiled room, split in half with two steps and rough carpet designed to get NY muck off your shoes. No phone, no keys, no money, just me and two copies of sports illustrated, one cigar aficionado, and one TONY. Two hours later and I'm well versed on ESPN's new fantasy football league on Facebook, non-cuban cigars from the Dominican Republic, and what's going on in New York this week. Even learned Italy's answer to Futball American... a strange game that's a mix of ultimate fighting, soccer, and football. I felt like the luckiest girl in the whole world! Not! I longed for a Vogue...

I guess I should have found a place in TONY where I could meet a man who would be impressed with my sudden, unplanned knowledge of fantasy football and cigars. Shrug. More important matters were pressing... like my bladder!

Three hours go by and the three glasses of water and 1/2 glass of diet coke are done with their tour of me. They urgently want to continue their tour of New York via the sewer system. It's broad daylight with people teeming everywhere. Another hour goes by... it hurts really bad. Another hour goes by... can't take it any more. I hear the sounds of bottles clinking outside. Some homeless lady is going through the recyclables. She leaves. I peep out, attach the door to the wall so I'm not locked outside, make a mad dash to the trash bin, pull out a wine bottle, and stroll back to the front door. My choice in urinals was not perfect; this bottle of wine was opened with a knife that only cut the topmost foil leaving behind a rather sharp tiny circle for me to work with. My kidneys hurt so much, this might actually feel good.

Logistics dictate that the going was slow (yay kegels!), yet I'm terrified someone might now come home. LOL, what a way to meet the neighbors! I'm holding the bottle by the neck and am about 3/4 done when I feel a very warm sensation through the glass... the bottle is completely filled!

Now, only one time before I peed into a cup... I was 18 and started a 50 mile drive to the mall with a 32 oz glass of Mountain Dew. The drink was gone in 10 miles, and though I made it to the mall, I was unable to make it inside to a restroom. So, being the resourceful type, I peed into the same empty cup that was previously just full with Mt. Dew. To my surprise, when finished, I had completely filled the cup!

Perhaps it was the boredom of sitting alone in a tiny room, or maybe it's just a fact of peeing into bottles, but there is a momentary sense of accomplishment in holding such a large quantity of liquid that was just inside oneself. Mostly though, there was relief. The sky was getting dark and I knew I could now wait the rest of the night, so spirits were up.

7 hours later, Warrin from down the hall comes home and rescues me. I had to convince him I was was who I was, but that was aided by having friends with cute and memorable faces.

Exhausted, I then slept for 18 hours straight.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

OUCH!

It took two days, but I did something I never could have imagined doing earlier in my transition... I epilated - pulled out hair by the root - my entire face!

Worst pain ever.

I first started epilating way back in 1999, though then it was just tweezing out the hairs around my nipples. Hairy chests were okay, but a smooth nipple area makes for happy nibbling.

Eventually, I bought a machine which looked like a normal electric razor to epilate my legs. The shins didn't hurt. Knees were kinda painful, but the upper legs hurt like hell. Inner thighs was the worst pain ever... until I did my belly. Ouch! That was the worst pain ever... until I did my chest! Arms not so much.

That was then, and now, it actually feels good to epilate. The roots are no longer twice as large as the shaft, and so the the hair is thinner and comes out quite easily and with no pain. In fact, it feels like scratching an itch... almost pleasant.

Well, the idea is that if I can stick with the face long enough, epilating my face will be a pain-free way to keep my face baby smooth.

All this cause I can't afford any more laser hair removal, which when I first started became the new worst pain ever! I never thought I'd ever feel anything that hurt like that... it was like getting punched in the face over and over and over.

So, armed with the bravado, I figured, what the heck, I can get through this.

It wasn't easy. The first night I used the same trick I used when I first got to my belly and chest... get real drunk. Alcohol numbs just great. Getting high only makes you more sensitive and thus, makes it hurt more, but a good buzz helps. Finished almost 1/2 bottle of Disorono to get through most of my neck.

The trick I used was this... normally I'm on a 24-hour shave cycle, but 12 hours in, I started pulling out the hairs that grew quickly. I could do my whole face this way without too much pain. The pain comes from pulling out the hairs in quick succession, and from the hairs that require more than one tweeze to get tugged out.

So, I'd epilate, wait an hour, epilate, wait an hour, epilate, wait an hour, and I could only hold out one more time. The rest would have to be shaved in Milwaukee. Still, I had managed to pull out an impressive amount of hair.

This time, however, I had full-on hair growth; 36 hours into my cycle and 24 hours after the first session. All hairs on my face were exposed. I started from the bottom of the neck and almost an hour later I had about 50% of the neck done. Awful pain, and unfortunately, it was to be the 50% of the neck that hurt the least!

Determined, I continued, taking breaks ever now and then because it just hurt that much. Of course, during the breaks, I'd still tweeze like mad, pulling out hairs one at a time. This method doesn't hurt, but ... it's awful slow. I would first do a quick sweep on an area to get the pain receptors warmed up and then bring in the epilator for mass uprooting.

The sides of the cheeks were pretty easy going; finishing the neck was hard, but drawing on my awesome ability to endure pain, I persevered. Under the chin was the new worst pain ever until I got to the upper chin, sides of chin, and then the lip area.

I don't think this would be possible for someone who hasn't already lost the majority of their hair due to laser removal or electrolysis - there's just too much hair on the face and it's just too thick and the face is just too sensitive. Took me over two hours to get through the face and 12 hours later, the chin area still hurts.

But, my face is smoother than I've ever felt it. Smoother than with shaving, sanding, Nairing, you name it. I'm already addicted to having a smooth face. Plus, with nearly 3/8" of hair under the skin gone, my face is oh so much brighter and whiter, if just a bit temporarily red and barely swollen.

When they said beauty is pain, this must have been what they were talking about!

The alternative? A really good story about how to kill hair can be found here.

Friday, July 25, 2008

What Whore Moans Look Like...

Walked down to the sushi shop on the corner, felt pretty.

On the way there, a man rolls by slowly in a Caddy, driving through the parking lot adjacent to the sidewalk.

"Hey there, baby, I saw you doing your thing."

My thing was listening to music while I walked. Maybe I byounced a little at the traffic light; wasn't paying attention... B'youncie was playing... who knows?

Evidently, I didn't act like a hooker would. He picked up on that pretty quick. Most of the black guys who have been into me seemed quite adept at social cues. I have to admit, based on my small sample size, they ooze confidence and style in a way the other boys don't. It's pretty sexy.

Anyway, I let him know I was just meeting a friend for Sushi (I lied) and he was content to just watch me walk away before pulling out of the parking lot.

Now at the local headshop, where I went on my first day here in Vegas, and many times since, the local shopkeep is amazed I didn't find a man to stay with out here. He literally can't believe it! I guess I passed to him way back then and still now. This surprised me as it's very, very bright inside his store and I've spent hours in there. He actually asks the next customer who enters (a cute young man) if he wants to come party tonight with me, but not before telling me that the going rate for in-call sex services are around $100. Is he a pimp-wanna-be?

Of course I could have found a man and a place... but that's the trap of Vegas and I wasn't about to fall into it! Seems a lot of people here are looking for someone to take care of them, either by winning money from the casino or finding a sugar daddy. The sad part is that the casinos are actually kinder than the men. The casinos just take your money, the men take your self-respect.

On the way home, a Mexican in a bright red truck actually u-turned and wanted to give me a 'ride' home. A little drunk on sake (the fermented rice beverage, not raw salmon), I humor the boy. There's no way I'm getting into his truck, but let's see where this goes.

Awkward. At least he knows what he wants. I reassure him that I live on the block and I was looking forward to walking off a bit of dinner, and head on my way.

Sweet. I'm ready for New York!

PS- the book is for women going through menopause, not M2F...

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Stay Tuned...

Update: the last 14 days have been a whir. Or maybe a blur. No, both. As the Phoenix rises up from the ashes and begins life anew, somewhat disconcerted at its sudden demise and rebirth, so too does Clio find a new world emerging from the end of the old. More details to come. There are many back-posts to appear and more to be written, but, suffice it to say that panic mode is now over and after two weeks of intense work and seeking a new existence, life is once again looking up! And we give thanks...

Monday, July 21, 2008

What Hormones Look Like

The medicine arrived today! Yay!!! God bless the Internet and trans-friendly on-line drug stores that don't require a prescription.

So I as transition off the old brands (some generic, some branded) to the new ones (some generic, some branded) there's a 17-day transition period until I'm fully on the new brands. Here's what that looks like:

The white pills are 25mg of spironolactone (branded as Aldactone) in 100mg doses. Spironolactone is commonly used to treat congestive heart failure or high blood pressure. I take it for the side-effects: breast growth and its anti-androgen properties. (It stops hair growth in women who have hair hair where most women don't by suppressing a male hormone that causes hair growth). I went with 4-25mg pills instead of 1-100mg pill (then) because the former is $4/mo and the latter is $120/mo. Doesn't make sense to me either. They will be replaced with one larger, chalkier pill which costs $16/mo.

The oval blue pills are generic finasteride in 5mg doses. Used mainly to treat prostate swelling in men I use it because it decreases production of testosterone. They will be replaced with the larger blue round ones, the same drug, but branded as Fincar and costs $26/mo.

The tiny green pill is 2mg of generic estradiol... estrogen. Used mainly by women who have stopped producing it on their own, this hormone is used for its primary effects. I found this little guy hiding among the oval blue pills. Costing around $30/mo, they are replaced by the smaller round blue pills, the same drug branded as Estrofem, $15/mo.

The pink pill is just baby aspirin, taken to thin the blood slightly as there is an increased risk of blot clots (and strokes) from a daily regimen of this feminine cocktail of drugs. The increased risk is small, but higher in women who smoke. I know one pack a month doesn't really qualify me as a smoker- not really- but since I do and there is, I will. $2/mo.

Not shown are the postage-sized clear stickers of estrodial (branded as Estradot) that deliver 2mg/day over 4 days. Gotta keep them sealed up in foil until ready to use, and these little babies are expensive! $60/mo. Why take the same drug twice? Drugs absorbed transdermally (through the skin) go straight to the blood; no messing with the liver. Since my liver often processes C8H10N4O2 (caffine), C10H14N2 (nicotine), C21H30O2 (tetrahydrocannabinol... THC... pot), and CH3CH2OH (Ethanol), it only makes sense to ease the load on the liver whenever I can. LOL, other than that, and consuming C12H17N2O4P (psylocybin... magic mushrooms) whenever they present themselves, I'm pretty drug-free!

So that's the most common way to change your sex (from M2F). I'll find a specialist soon and tailor the doses and drugs based on my specific needs.

It really is a miracle to watch the transformation. Better living through chemistry! :)

Sunday, July 20, 2008

You Loved Me Cause You're Crazy

Met a man today, he thought I was pretty.
He said come live with me, stay with me,
You need a big strong man to take care of you.

He said everything I needed to hear.
And oh he was handsome, and strong enough
to sweep me off my feet.

But don't ask me why,
When he found out
I used to be a guy,
He took it all away.

So many empty promises, so much untrue.
Tell me, what 's a woman to do?
So I packed up my clothes
and left all those troubles behind.

Saturday, July 19, 2008

Hanging on...

The past few weeks have been filled with lots of drama. For the record, I prefer romantic comedies, but we play the roles we are assigned. Except when we don't. I've no time for such pursuits and I won't feed that energy. Nonetheless, it seems I'm staring in a reality drama show to be aired on the drama network. Queue dramatic music... stay tuned for tons of back-posts.

In the meantime, I managed to catch a Vegas show... a legend, even, the man of many voices, Danny Gans! Best described as ADD theatre, he sings songs spaning 70 years, backed by a tight 9-piece band. Part concert, part talk-show, part stand-up, and part Broadway, he fired through his material at such a rapid pace, I wondered, 10 minutes in, if he (and the band) could keep doing it for the whole show.

He did.

No wonder he's being doing a show here for more than 10 years. I remember seeing his visiage, larger-than-life, back in my earliest days here in Vegas.

Friday, July 18, 2008

Quote of the Day


People aren't as repulsed by you as they thought they would be.

LOL. Taken in context, we were talking about the draw of lil 'ol me to the normals, and particularly, why people hang around even after I may or may not have been read.

Current events tell me I'm not being read, but I could be. I'm walking with the gorgeous people and believe me, it's hard feeling pretty around flawless, fun, 20-somethings in revealing outfits!

Regardless, past events tell me the stares are no longer from contempt or disgust. They might be stares for beauty or stares of curiosity, but they are no longer threatening, and, if I smile, or flirt back, they usually smile too. But still... they stare.

And linger. Of she who said this, a man in a genetic woman's body, I'm her 3rd sex arm candy. She's got a fetish for folks like me and thinks the rest of the world sees me as she does, and knowing the mindset of normals, thinks that people are surprised that they aren't more disgusted by me, or the situation of being so close to me.

And why not? I'm not like the transsexuals you see on Jerry Springer or reality TV. (I doubt I'm like the ones in porn flicks either!) I've even caught glances of amazement cross their faces when they hear our erudite conversations. "What? The evolution of life? They aren't talking about sex or drugs?" Seriously. I have compassion for the black man walking down the street who watches the old lady cluth her purse tighter as she sees him approach.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

China

I've been seriously considering living in China, teaching English.

Nothing like learning another culture to make you more cultured, and this one is fascinating. From the everyday customs (put water on skin in morning, skin in water at night) to the special occasion tea ceremony, to food (if it moves or the sun shines on it back, eat it."

Though truth be told, I'm a little wary of that last one. They do eat everything there, to the point where it's 100% acceptable to spit food out of your mouth onto the table if you don't like it. Wow. It is even considered acceptable to offer food to guests that you yourself would never eat! It is not acceptable to not try it, but, you can always spit it out.

Evidently, Americans are somewhat of a celebrity status there... I was told to expect frequent dinners with the mayor and other government officials.

No ovens or clothes dryers... a bit pretentious when your neighbors might not even have electricity!

Still, I think I'd love it there. Only one hangup... the bath house is where people go at night to cleanse themselves, relax, and purify the body of the day's toxins. The problem? You walk in, and at your first steps in the door, assistants take off all your clothes (can have them washed and dried if you want).

Hmm... poses a problem for a girl in transition...

They've not much experience with transsexuals, but from what I gather, the view on gay sex is, "fine, just don't let it get in the way of your family responsibilities." Wow, just like the greeks!

Monday, July 14, 2008

Crazy Walker

I walked down the block to the local sushi shop.

At the counter, I sat next to a lady who lived cater-corner from me and a gentleman who lived across the street.

They both thought I was crazy for walking!

It wasn't too hot... 100 degrees
It wasn't too far... 3/4 block (3/4 mile)
It wasn't too dangerous... sidewalks and cross-walks all the way

Lol, if they think I'm crazy for that...

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Eco Suicide

From: spiked ... made me laugh! And, confirmed my decision that when the time comes, I'll follow in the footsteps of Virginia Wolfe.

Dear Ethan,

After careful consideration I have decided to end my life. Things haven’t been going very well for me lately, but more importantly I am keen to reduce my carbon impact on the planet. Like the average Briton I probably produce around 9.3 tonnes of carbon each year. I am 26 years old, and reckon I could live for another 60 years; if I end things now I will save a total of 558 tonnes of carbon, for which I believe future generations should be grateful. But I have a question: what is the most ethical way to commit suicide? I don’t want my self-destruction to be destructive to the planet!


Yours faithfully,
Zach Montague
Richmond-upon-Thames


Dear Zach,


I empathise with your selfless decision. All responsible studies show that there are just too many people living on this planet for life to be sustainable. At least you have had the courage to do something about it, in a small and local way.


In fact your suicide could actually save far more carbon than you realise. Think of the children you might have had, and what CO2 vandalism they could have done. Your death will also reduce the carbon impact of friends and family members you leave behind – all those journeys they won’t make to visit you, unnecessary presents they won’t have to buy or wrap. I estimate that over 60 years your suicide will stop your loved ones from producing 583.2 kg of carbon from gift-buying alone. So your death will be even more generous than you know!


To your main question, which is a good one. As we know, many suicides are harmful to the environment. I often wonder about the state of mind of people who asphyxiate themselves with exhaust fumes in their cars – do they not know that every minute their car is chugging out up to 70g of CO2? As for people who jump off buildings, they seem to give no consideration whatsoever to the toxic cleaning products required to scrub the pavement. Suicides should take more time to think about the impact of their deaths on their surroundings.


I think the key to a green and ethical suicide is to leave no trace of your body behind. Selfish families will insist on holding a ceremony to dispose of bodies, often without a thought as to the environmental impact. A church funeral means people driving miles, maybe even flying to attend, not to mention the damage done by a gas-guzzling old hearse. It might be argued that once buried, human bodies provide food for other species, but as one brave EU environment commissioner reminds us, embalming fluids pose a danger to ‘living organisms’ – maggots and beetles that feast on the deceased – and should be banned. Will your family stop and think of the poor insects?


Even worse, they might opt for cremation. Did you know that 437,000 wooden coffins – the equivalent of 140 000 trees – are wastefully burnt in these self-regarding ceremonies in Britain EVERY YEAR? Cremation pollutes the environment with dioxin, hydrochloric acid, sulphur dioxide and carbon dioxide. All your good intentions in taking your own life could be undermined at the touch of an incinerator button.


So ideally your suicide should leave nothing to bury or cremate. A colleague in America advises eco-warriors who choose Carbon Suicide to throw themselves off a boat, so that the body disintegrates on the seabed and makes little impact on the ozone layer. However, I’m not so sure. Whales, dolphins and fish have a hard enough time with pollution and nets without having to avoid or swallow human carcasses, shoelaces, belts and buttons. If you do take the sea-suicide option, please remove all your clothing first (and post to a green charity shop prior to death).


In my view, probably the most ethical way to commit suicide is by self-cremation. Go deep into a forest, douse the body sparingly and set yourself alight. The ‘experts’ assure me that there is as yet no environmentally-friendly flammable liquid to match petrol. However, before turning to the Great Satan gasoline, I think a truly committed individual might experiment with vegetable oil and bio-fuels – after all, if they can power green cars, surely they can burn a green carcass! But even if you have to use a few (carefully measured) cups of petrol it will do far less damage to the eco-system than a conventional cremation. (Ironically, an obese over-consumer may burn more easily.) What’s more, the few remains of your body can be recycled by foxes and other small carnivores. So you will be sparing the planet from your 558 tonnes of carbon and literally giving a hand to Britain’s beleaguered wildlife at the same time.


My last word to you, Zach: don’t leave a suicide note. Even using a single sheet of paper contributes to the felling of trees for profit and the threatened extinction of many animals. Why ruin your selfless ethical moment? Post it on MySpace as a shining example to future generations of how to choose life by ending it all. Good luck!

Saturday, July 12, 2008

The Storm

I love it when it rains in the desert.

From where I was standing, a V-shaped section of the sky was visible through the trees. Standing on the second floor, when the wind blew through the trees, I could reach out and touch their leaves. It was quite a vantage point! The sky, normally black and back-lit by stars was brighter than twilight, lit up from the millions of bulbs on the strip. It was light enough outside to read a book, yet it was beyond midnight.

Staring into the storm, I waited. Suddenly a fork of lightning divides the sky and I see what appears to be as close as the trees a brilliant white streak. I jumped. Used to low-flying severe storms in the Midwest, I expected to hear the report instantaneously.

1-one thousand, 2-one thousand, 3-one thousand ... no trace of sound
8-one thousand, 9-one thousand, 10-one thousand ... still nothing!
14-one thousand, 15-one thousand, 16-one thousand ... was I ever going to hear anything?

Then, nearly 20 seconds after the flash, far off in the distance, there's a faint rumble. Over the next 5 seconds it repeats at increasing levels of loudness until finally, overhead there is a giant BOOM! that makes my hair stand on end.

And what happened next, I did not also expect... the boom just heard was then replayed over and over as it echoes to and from one side of the valley to the next. If one listened carefully, one could discern the topography of the land by timing the echoes and noting their relative loudness. First comes the report from due West- mountains just a few miles from that direction. Then from the South-West. The report from the East - still impressive - sounded tired, as if it had to travel much further and with greater difficulty. Then finally, the report from the South-East, the furthest range from here. Deep with reverberations that made the windows rattle.

Then the echos of the echoes began to report, and just as the many harmonics of a simple tone combine into a rich sound, so to did the echoes creates a percussive symphony that endured for nearly 40 seconds... fading into what sounded exactly like a car driving by, blaring the beat of a hip-hop song from a speaker tuned for too much bass.

Thump de thump. Thump de thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Then silence.

I can't believe the lightning bolt, as big as any I had every seen, was 4 miles away. I thought it was right on top of us... perhaps it was, just 4 miles up?

The wind howls and screams, the rain comes harder, and the cycle repeats with stunning regularity. With each report and its symphony of echos, I feel like a dolphin, able to map out the space I'm in with using just my ears. I can visualize where the storm is over the valley and which direction it is moving.

The rain continues to fall; a new sight for me in the dessert. I watch a mini-flood occur just a few feet down the street, at an intersection of storm drains. Just as the rain waters from Africa spill onto the land and flood entire regions of parched land, so to did these waters slowly gather around the edges of the street until both sides were united and the road was covered with a mini-river.

Next... a sudden calm. I wait.

The sprinklers turn on.

The rain seems aware of the silliness below and decides to move on, leaving me alone once more.

Friday, July 11, 2008

Self-Medicating

Okay, first crisis is hopefully solved!

God bless the internet!

Not my normal brands, but a 90-day supply of everything costs $350, a full $220 savings from the same products (with prescription) at Target and I'll get more discounts on the next order!

It is a sad commentary that one has to resort to means like this, but seeing how I'm the only one able to help myself, it will do for now.

I am still interested in finding a good doctor (regular blood-work seems a no-brainer for long-term health screening), so if you come across one in my area, do please let me know. However, knowing that I might be spending the next X years in Asia, I just might self-medicate my way to an inexpensive SRS in Thailand! :)

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Wisest Words I Know

The first comes from my dear friend's mother, and concerns relationships with men:

With the right man, you can do no wrong, and with the wrong man, you can do no right.

How true this has turned out to be! The lesson? Don't worry so much.

The second comes from experience, most notably, the Vegas experience, and relates to everything.

If you want something done, you have to make it happen.

And thus two truths were shared.

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

Counting Blessings

Today I have crossed that imaginary d0tted line between 'guy' and 'girl'. No matter how much further I feel I have to go in my transition- physically, mentally, or behaviorally- I find myself now firmly with both feet in the area labelled 'girl' and at last, appearing to the world as 'female'!

This is a very exciting part of my transition! For how many years have I dreamt being here? All of them!

>trumpets blare<

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

End Of The World (As We Know It)

Things are not looking good. I could not afford to rent a car for another month because my prescriptions needed renewing. Continue developing into a woman or have wheels. It was an easy choice. True, that means I'm a bit tethered to this little oasis in Vegas- but it's such a nice oasis! Wonderful pool, great home, great roomie.

On the up side, I had just secured income to stay there + food for the next 4 months... plenty of time to get another client (and get paid by another client) so that I could get a car. A temporary speed bump, I gathered, but nothing too severe.

Then came the winds. Target is having problems filling my prescription... seems like my doctor's fax is on the fritz and I'll have to wait till after the 4th holiday to take care of that. Means a long and dangerous bike ride to Target, but c'est la vie! I remained upbeat.

Then, annoyed by my sharing of an exciting first-ever life experience during Frasier re-runs, my housemate goes Gwen Stefanie. There was no holla back, girl. He wants his space, so I spend the night outside, talking to friends, literally hanging out.

I remain upbeat.

Early morning comes and he's slamming doors over and over- what is going on? Another ominous text from him... I venture out for another verbal lashing. He's upset at me because he's having a rough time and all I've ever tried to do is be his friend. The only thing I can make out is to be his friend, you have to like exactly everything he likes, for he keeps saying that we like different things. No kidding we like different things, what's that got to do with you being upset at me, I wonder?

He starts to gets really pissed because I'm not engaging his anger.

The last time he told me to get out of his house - early and permanently - I made up my mind that I wasn't going to live in a place where my security was threatened each month. So this time, when he says, "I want you out at the end of the month!" I quickly and calmly replied this was fine; I don't want to live where I'm not wanted.

This infuriates him and he raises the stakes. "How about you get out by the end of this week?"

"Sure," I call his bluff, "if you refund my money I just paid you for rent." I'm thinking, heck with it, give me my rent and I'll just fly to Georgia or something.

He backs down and has been in standoff mode since.

So now, I need to find a place to live. But first I need a car to go to places. But first I need income. But first, I need to get paid by a client. But first I need a home to work in, so now I need to find a place to live. But first I need a car to get there. But first I need money...

I've got a couple hundred to my name and that is it. Nothing more.

And, to top it all off... I called my Doctor in Indy (on the last day of my prescription) only to find that HE'S NO LONGER THERE! Office closed and that's that. French Connection-United Kindom me!

So, in addition to all this no home, no car, no job drama, I got no meds AND no doctor, AND no money. This is not back to zero, it's below zero. Add to it that even in the best of times I've had to remain upbeat and postive while small-minded people reject me for who I am... well, you do the math.

I'm really, really scared. This feels like the end (says the girl who's many times contemplated the end).

HELP!

Help, I need somebody,
Help, not just anybody,
Help, you know I need someone, help.

When I was younger, so much younger than today,
I never needed anybody's help in any way.
But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured,
Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors.

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round.
Help me, get my feet back on the ground,
Won't you please, please help me?

Monday, July 07, 2008

Moonset and Other Nature's Wonders

I stood still long enough to watch the moon move across the sky and set!

The full weight of these words will take some effort to explain. Perhaps you've watched the sun set over an ocean before... a truly amazing sight, for other than watching a solar (or lunar) eclipse, it's hard to actually watch stellar objects move across they sky. They just do... here one moment, here the next.

But when the sun sets over the ocean, it's amazing... you can actually watch the sun fall into the ocean, and unless you've watched the shadows moved on the ground during the day, you've probably never seen anything similar.

Well, we know the moon moves across the sky the same way and I was shocked to actually be able to watch the moon move across the sky. Thought it moved too slow to watch with the naked eye, but as it turns out, you can!

I was out looking for the moon (as you do) when I saw it just above the tree tops at the end of the compound. Fresh off a good high, I was content to stare at it while smoking a cigarette. First, I noticed that just 1/4 into the fag, the moon was now illuminating a branch it wasn't before. Had the moon just moved that much in 4 minutes? I scrutinized and was amazed to watch it fall through the branches of the trees and disappear.

Long had I considered the experience of the first men (and women) to watch the stars move across the sky and now, for the first time on this planet, I was able to discern the motion of our moon. Different from knowing how the moon moves, this was the first time I had experienced the knowledge. Amazing.

And the best part?

I stepped back about 20 feet and watched the whole thing all over again! Can't do that with a sunset! :)

Later that week, I noticed that the bushes growing outside the front door have little ivy-like tendrils which seemed to move. At first, dismissing this motion to the wind or human contact, I later had the opportunity to watch the plants just like I watched the moon. Similarly, I noticed movement from lighting up to the final draw. This was one of those rare nights when there was no wind or convection currents in the desert... all was calm.

I watched those little tendrils for nearly 30 minutes and was amazed see them move. I know the mechanism that plants use to anchor themselves (having seen it on Planet Earth) but again, was completely amazed to witness without time-lapse photography this plant moving on its own accord. TV isn't that good!

I will miss lighting up for these nightly meditations in the desert. I've spent so much time out there, even the cockroaches seem friendly now. Creepy, but friendly.

Sunday, July 06, 2008

The Blonde Leading The Blind

Joanda, my massage therapist called me today seeking advice on how to be a sexy woman.

In case you don't have a massage therapist, they are generally more aware of your own body than your intimate friends, unless you're lucky and found someone who spends an hour a week doing nothing but touching (theraputically) your entire body.

Anyway, I told her my secret before she put her hands on my body, but long after we had our initial consultation. She initially saw me as a woman and was quite curious about my condition, but I didn't give it much thought after that. We were girls, all of us there in her office.

At first, I didn't notice her constant affirmations of me being sexy, and then, once aware, I assumed she was just doing her thing. She's cuban, a refugee- as in rode a raft across the ocean to get to Florida. Everything about this woman is sexy, her story, her affected accent, her shape, color, and demeanor, so it seemed improbable to me that she found me as sexy as she claimed.

So I was shocked to hear her voice on the other end of the line asking me (me!) for advice on getting affections (and money) from a man. But only for a moment, for I initially found the whole idea silly, but after we began talking, I realized there was a lot she did not know about American, specifically, boy culture.

The poor thing was being played by some jerk... making her think that he'd care for her and help out her business just so he could get in her pants. She wanted in his pants, for sure, but worse, thought his affections were genuine. Like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

So, I drew on my penis experiences (or more accurately, stories from other's penis experiences shared unsuspectingly to me in the role as double-agent) and I tried to get her to realize how his behaviour might be different if he truly cared for her.

Unsurprisingly, she didn't want to hear it and only listened to how she could be more alluring and sexy. How romantic the mindset of foreign women!

So, I drew on my vagina experiences (or more accurately, stories from other's vagaina experiences witnessed first hand) and I gave her gasoline for her fire.

Three days later, I called her to find out what the score was, but unsurprisingly, he was not in a hurry to love her or care for her, despite her giving herself to him. Poor thing, she deserves so much better.

"Buht yoo air alwees so sects-see whan I see yoo!"

>blush<

Thanks, Jo... right back at ch'a!

Saturday, July 05, 2008

Somewhere Between Hello And Goodbye

Somewhere between lying in bed with a naked man, myself only wearing a pair of satin thong panties and, "Hi, my name is Clio. I used to be a boy." there exists the right time to let someone know there's more to me than meets the eye.

Friday, July 04, 2008

232 Years Later...

There was a red sun rising - blood had been spilt the night before - but from where? Off in the distance, one could hear echoes of pistol fire. This could only mean one thing: the invaders had reached the valley!

Then, on the hottest day of the year, 106 degrees in the shade, there was an uneasy quiet which would not last. The calm before the storm. Soon, sounds of explosions surround us! Sounds of machine guns fire through the thick, heavy air. We can see the lights from the explosions in the distance. War is upon us!

Today, I woke up, looked outside my window, and everything seemed normal again. I have not yet gone out to look at the damage, nor have I turned on the TV... I'm sure I'll be bombarded with images over the next few days and I haven't the heart for them now.


We are a nation born, suckled, bred and forged from War. We are the only nation with the words "rockets and bombs" in the national anthem! AFAIK, we are the only nation explicitly granting its citizens the right to carry guns. Not just pistols, mind you, but military-grade weapons.

We are a nation that declares war on itself almost daily: the war on drugs, the war on poverty, the war on inflation... all the while not realizing that the only effect from creating a war on X is to create more X.

We are a nation with a language infiltrated with metaphors of war. Teams no longer win, they massacre. Advocates launch a campaign of awareness. A comedian killed last night, but never mind, we kill millions of germs and feel healthy and clean about it. We eat flesh without giving a second thought to the animals that were killed to provide it.

No doubt, America can be a violent country.

I wonder if the rest of the good 'ol USA knows that we celebrate our birth with the reminders of war, or if it's just a special night of pretty fireworks? Would that change the patriot's attitude toward foreign policy? Toward life?

Thursday, July 03, 2008

When Dreams Die

Hold Fast To Your Dreams,
For If Dreams Die,

Life Is A Broken-Winged Bird
That Cannot Fly...

The tourament starts in one hour. The tournament. The reason why I came out here. Exciting day today, only I'm not in it.

Words cannot describe my dissatisfaction. Oh, there's always next year... whatev. Soothes as much as "you can still adopt." Even knowing I finished top 100 in the ladies world championship doesn't assuage my grief.

What hurts the most is that I believed. I did all I could do, but throughout, I maintained a solid belief that I would make it, that I was worthy. Even until I went to bed last night, I kept alive the hope of pulling through miracle #3... but it was not to be.

Once again, we fall short and find ourselves at square one. Don't tell me I aim too high; my goals are not beyond my abilities. Hillary didn't win either, you think she'd feel better if you told her the country just wasn't ready for a woman president? No. She was ready, capable, and willing.

R.I.P. WSOP Dream... it was fun while it lasted.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Tuesday, July 01, 2008

You Loved Me When You Thought I Had A Vagina

Dr. Mayor was enjoying a fattening breakfast with his aunt out at the local pancake shop near her house. He thoroughly enjoyed her company, but he was unable to take his eyes of a certain young girl, sitting all alone, obviously waiting for someone who never came.

But this is not his blog.

It's Sunday, I'm meeting a friend at the Original Pancake House to terrorize Bradly at work. Only, she's not coming; I can't even get through to her on her cell... she's cashed out. No bother, I'm already up early, dressed, and hungry. I leave without her.

Bradly was working quite hard, dashing here and there, never stopping for a second. I was having a hard time understanding why he enjoyed the job so much until I met J.R., the shift manager. Everyone must have known he was gay, but I don't think he did. It was obvious why he loved his job; his hours appeared to be spent cracking jokes with the waitresses and customers.

On Bradly's advice, I had a veggie oven-baked omelet... scrumdilicious! I even took a picture of it so my friend would know what she was missing.

While there, unbeknownst to me, there's a man checking me out. He obviously likes what he sees, but I never even noticed. After my meal, Bradly comes over for a brief chat, we say our good-byes, and I thought that was that.

Well, Bradly was also serving the man and the fact that we seemed to be friends did not go unnoticed. He pays his bill and leaves only to come back in a few moments later. Later, I would find out that it took him all of his courage out there in the parking lot to come back in and search me out. He motions to speak with Bradly.

"Excuse me," he said, pointing at the table where I once was, "that girl who was just in here- do you know her well?"

"Yeah, I know her really well... she's my roommate!"

Bradly tells the man I'm here for the WSOP and, by the way, she's a Ph.D. He's impressed and says that he thinks I'm beautiful. He gives Bradly a business card and asks that I might call him. He's a doctor, internal medicine. A heart doctor.

Exciting!

I let a few days go by before calling; the number he left was his practice, so I wasn't too worried about actually talking to him. I can't seem to get through the doctors that are already treating me, so why would this be any different?

Ring. "Hello, this is Jordan, how may I help you?"

"Hi, uh, my name is Clio and Lance wanted me to return his call?"

The man on the other end of the line seems dubious.

"He's currently with a patient, may I ask if you are currently a patient of his?"

"No," I replied, "I met him at the pancake house last Sunday."

"Clio?"

"Yes?"

"Oh, wait just a minute, I'll go get him."

Huh, how about that? He comes to the phone, obviously in a hurry. It's obvious he really was with a patient, but somehow, he must of told his crew that I had "bat phone" privileges.

He's as eager as a child on Christmas Eve; it's kinda cute, having such a powerful man behave like this! He's very happy that I called, tells me he's with a patient, and would I do him the honor of giving him my phone number?

I do, and he tells me he'll call later when things aren't so busy.

Morning turns to evening and there's a blocked call coming through on the mobile. I let it go to voicemail. It's him! He's calling to say that he's going to be working for a few more hours, but that he'll call back.

I can only presume he wants to take me out to dinner, so I preemptively take a shower, smooth my legs, curl my hair and put on some makeup. Just about the time I'm finished, he calls back.

"Hi, what are you doing?"

I'm making it easy for him.

"I'm just thinking about what to do for dinner," comes my sing-song reply.

He takes the bait and we agree to meet at the Grand Lux inside the Plazzo. I put on a sun dress, some kitten heels and head out the door.

Snaking my way from Valet through the casino, I wonder what he'll look like? Would I be attracted to him? Probably not, but I wasn't going to let that get in the way of a good time! He probably has other redeeming qualities anyway, being a doctor and all...

The Plazzo is a small casino, but nonetheless, I can't find the Lux. I'm in the shops between Plazzo and Venetian and where I think it is, isn't. There but by the grace of God I go, fashionably late.

I finally find the restaurant and position myself where I can be seen. Seconds later I hear my name being called from over my shoulder. I spin around and see... a chest.

The Dr. is tall! He's not completely unfortunate looking! Now he's as eager as a child on Christmas morning!

The waitress seats us at a 2-top, but he's not happy about this arrangement. He wants to sit next to me! So, we find ourselves at a 4-top and he motions for me to sit on the booth side. He sits next to me, and after just a minute of conversation, realizes that he wants to look at me more than he wants to sit next to me, so he jumps around to the other side. Teehee.

He asks me about me and he's impressed that I am who I am and eyes me carefully.

"What's the catch?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's wrong with you? How can you be so wonderful?"

For a moment, I flash back to the jerk from the WSOP circuit events. But tonight was not like that. I mean, tall, strong, career-girls... he knows about me, right?

I use my hands to draw his eyes up and down my body... "Honey, what you see, is what you get."

He giggles as the waiter comes over. I order a very tasty Shiraz (St. Hallet) and the market fish, mahi mahi; he gets water and, I swear this is true, a salad. No matter, the conversation is good, I can tell he's impressed that I can follow his thoughts, but I think he's starting to feel threatened, so I start acting drunk (from one glass of wine! LOL!) and twirling my hair. Hey, I'm new at this, it's all I got.

The food comes and I was amazed. His salad was more like a garden, and my plate had a nice portion of fish plus five, 1-2-3-4-5 vegetables! Mashed sweet potatoes, broccoli, carrots, sugar snap peas, and mashed potatoes. I wonder how much "market price" was?

After eating he can no longer contain himself. He comes to sit next to me. I don't think he's used to this kind of affection. I give him some. He wants to take me out to Peppermill for drinks. He's played his cards right and I sure could use another drink.

"Okay."

He walks me to Valet and we take separate cars there. He self-parked, so he kisses me good-bye, and I have to strain- even in heels- to reach his lips. In the moment, I lose my sense of proprioception. (Did my leg just go up like when the wife kisses the husband at the end of 50s sitcoms? Haha, wish I could have seen that!) No wonder he likes tall girls! I sure feel cute, pretty, and petite around him!

The Peppermill is old-school Vegas. That's not to say it isn't modern, but the front half is like a 50s dinner and the back half is a groovy lounge, with neon everywhere, mirrors for walls, C-shaped oversized lounges, plasma TVs showing music videos, and featuring pools of water on fire. My kinda place.

We sit down in an out-of-the-way corner and give him what he wants; I sit next to him. He tells me, among other things, that he's looking to take a vacation soon, to Cozumel, and that he wants me to go with him.

"Ew, Mexico?" I tease.

"I hate Mexico, myself," he counters, "but Cozumel is fantastic. You should come with me!"

All in all, it's been a pretty good night, and I actually find myself, if not attracted to this man, attracted to the way he makes me feel. He wants to take me home. I resist.

"I just want to hold you and watch a movie."

That doesn't sound so bad. I was a bit curious to see his house.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay, get me a shot, and let's go!"

He lives very near the strip, in a neighborhood of what must be multi-million dollar homes. His house, however, is in a quadplex that looked from the 60s. We go inside and up the wrought-iron staircase. His flat is huge, maybe 2,000 square feet. The foyer is marble floor which extends into the kitchen, and then the floor drops into the sunken lounge and living room.

All the walls are mirrors.

He's keen to "clean up" so I get comfortable at his piano and play some tunes. After a while, he returns and says the movie's ready. He's really proud of his new TV... 10 year old projection-TV technology, but I lie and say it's really impressive.

The "movie" is the tonight show with Jay Leno! Whatever, I climb up on his bed and watch TV with him. Turned on by Jay he wants to make out. He mentions that he wishes he could put on some jazz, but that the radio is in the other room. This guy is pathetic!

I grab the remote from the table, press a few buttons, and poof! Light jazz on the music channels he didn't know he had. He looks at me.

"Oh yeah, computers and stuff!"

"Yeah, and stuff."

He actually becomes more interested in how I did what I did than me, so I wait for him to figure out what just happened. He gets it back to Leno but doesn't know where to go from there.

"Press 928"

Leno flickers off and once again, light jazz is playing. The only difference is that this time, he did it.

He turns his attention to me, and suddenly I feel like I'm in the lion's den. In hindsight, it's all incredibly obvious, but at the time, there wasn't anything going on that seemed inappropriate.

As he kisses me, his hand moves up my leg. I deflect it up my arm. This pattern continues and thinking back to highschool and college, when the roles were reversed, I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud! Here I am blocking groping hands just as others did to me in my youth. Shelarious!

I can't control his hands on his body, however and pretty soon, he's nekkid. Oh my god, that thing is huge! He is a big guy, I reason, and for a moment, I giggle at how he'd look with the penis of a 5'6" man. Anyway, I'm glad I decided early that that was not going to happen.

I was just wearing a tiny summer dress and thong panties and pretty soon, I find myself without the dress. He's getting really excited now; I need to manage expectations.

"Baby, slow down!"

He ignores me, "I want to be inside you."

Snort. No way that thing's going inside me! Wait a minute. Inside me? That's something straight boys say.

OH MY GOD, HE DOESN'T KNOW!

Somewhere deep in the far recesses of my mind, far away from the current reality of life, there's a little celebration, but I'm too freaked out to notice.

"Inside me?"

He continues to make out like a straight man and not, in fact like a man who has actually touched another man's penis.

"Baby, baby, baby... there's something about me I thought you knew, but now I'm not sure."


I'm petrified. Not because I think this is a dangerous, violent man- on the contrary, he's safe and gentle. But still... not a good situation to be in! I hope I don't have to walk back to the Peppermill!

"Have you ever been with a boy before?"

"No, why?"

Oh dear. He's straight and he thinks I'm a genetic girl. Damn. Guess I'm not going to Cozumel after all.

"How would you feel if I told you I used to be a boy?"

He pauses at this. "I don't know. Did you?"

"Yes."

"When did you become a woman?"

Gulp.

"I'm still transitioning."

More silence. Yup, I'm walking back. To my surprise, he's actually curious!

"You're not a woman?"

"No."

"Can you feel this?" He grabs me close and kisses my breasts.

"MMmmh," I moan. I let myself enjoy it on the off chance he's okay with everything.

He stops as soon as he figures out the answer to his question.

More silence.

"I'm really sorry, I thought you knew! You said you just wanted to hold me!!" I'm crying now, why not? It really did hurt, and it only made me look more feminine in his eyes.

He repeats my words early at dinner, "What you see is what you get." He chuckles to himself. He's embarrassed that he didn't know, but seems satisfied to finally answer his earlier question at dinner.

I'm still crying; he thinks he really hurt me, which is true, but also exactly what I want him to think; I don't actually have a lot of options here, and I'm trying to keep him as a friend and not as an angry person, so, I appeal to his good nature and make like I'm devastated that he's no longer interested in me.

Actually, it wasn't a stretch to act that way.

Later, I would proudly look back at this moment as one of the first times I finally acted like a real woman... getting what I wanted (safely back to my car), but letting the man think he was in charge.

He's not angry, but he's no longer interested. He takes me back to my car and says, "I'll still be your friend." I cry myself home. I cry for the next few hours. I finally get tired of smelling like man, so I take another shower and end up crying myself to sleep.

Morning comes, and I'm fine enough, but I feel totally alone. I did not expect to hurt like that. I did not expect a week to pass before I could bear to write about it.

At least I know what I'll say if ever I call him again. "Doctor, I have a pain in my chest..."